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"Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. 'One more time? For the audience?' he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go." -The Hunger Games, last page.
"for you." says peeta. yes, i will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life and i will keep it close. "thanks." I say.